


Filthy Text

by saltwatergirl



Series: Filthy Text [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternative Universe - No Girlfriends, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Liam POV, M/M, Masturbation, Sexting, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 07:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2182422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltwatergirl/pseuds/saltwatergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam accidently sends Zayn a dirty text. Zayn’s interested response is <i>definitely not </i>accidental.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filthy Text

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thank you to [Equallydestructive](http://archiveofourown.org/users/equallydestructive) for the beta read.

Maybe it was a Freudian slip. Maybe it was the dyslexia his sister had snarkily diagnosed him of years back. _“Liam,_ _there’s a reason you can’t spell for shit.”_ Or maybe he was so drunk, he really couldn’t distinguish the two contacts apart.  Whatever it was, Liam didn’t know.

What he did know was that he was so horny his cock was threatening to breach the confines of its Calvin Klein boxers, but he was stuck in a hotel room with no Wi-Fi, therefore he had zero means of getting onto the internet to look for some quality porn. So he went for the next best thing; he grabbed his iPhone and took a shot of his CK clad erection.

New Message: "Guess who's got a big dick 4 u?”

Not exactly poetic, but it got straight to the point. He scrolled through his contact list until he found Yvonne’s number. He had been sending Yvonne flirtatious, albeit PG, texts for weeks now. Something about the way she texted back made him think that she would be up for something a little more R-rated.

He attached the image and pressed send, and as an afterthought he double checked the recipient of the text a second too late. When he saw whose number the message was currently going to— Liam’s heart lurched uncomfortably in his chest and his hard-on wilted. He fumbled with his phone, almost dropping it, as he attempted to cancel the still pending message.

But it was too late.

The message was gone. It wasn't Yvonne who would have been asked to guess who had a big dick for her. y—z—

No, the lucky recipient was Zayn.

***

Liam paced the hotel room, burning an oval-shaped hole in the carpet until he heard the low chime of a new message. He froze, statued in place, staring at the bed where his phone lay, screen glowing. He had no idea what to say to Zayn. Maybe he could say that someone had gotten a hold of his phone and sent the message as a prank, but then that wouldn't explain the dirty picture of him in his pants with an erection. A picture that was irrefutably and undeniably him- what with his tattooed arm clearly visible in the frame. His best course of action would be to confess the truth; horny and tipsy from the champagne he drank earlier, he'd tried sexting.

They would laugh it off. Sure, it would be embarrassing and he probably wouldn't be able to look Zayn in the eyes for the next few months, but it was far better, than say, had he sent it to Simon. Liam's face _burned_ at the thought, his hands getting clammy as a shudder of terror seized him. See, things could have been much, much worse.

He walked to the bed, picked up his iPhone, and read the new message.

From Zayn: "Well I can't really tell how big it is when u still have those pants on ;x"

Liam blinked and sat down on the mattress. He wasn't sure if he was reading Zayn's text correctly. Did he mean- Did he want Liam to send him a dick shot? What was the etiquette to ask your mate if they wanted a picture of your cock without coming across like, he didn't know, a bit pervy? There was a chime and a new message banner sprawled over his screen.

From Zayn: "Are we talking 7 inches or above? #SeeingIsBelieving"

Liam blinked and read the text a few times to ensure he was interpreting it correctly. Because if he was- Zayn wanted to see his cock. Or maybe it was some elaborate game of chicken and he should probably text Zayn and tell him, "Nice try, mate." Maybe the other lads were in on it, the four of them sitting together, Harry giggling over Louis’s shoulder while Niall was bent over, slapping his own knee as fits of laughter ripped through him all while Louis instructed Zayn on what to type next.

But then again, maybe Zayn was alone. And curious. Liam was curious to— how far was Zayn willing to take things before he folded?

Before he could sober up he got on the bed and kicked off his pants, letting them land on the floor. His pulse spiked as he wrapped a hand over his cock and gave himself a few firm strokes. He turned his phone camera on and angled it towards his crotch, trying to find an angle that would really accentuate the best-worst kept secret in One Direction; his big dick.  Finally finding one that worked, he snapped a shot.

New Message to Zayn: "I know mathematics was not ur best subject but im sure its at least 8 1/2. Proof is attached."

Liam pressed send and sat back, working his hand up and down his cock as he waited for Zayn to text him back. It was a short wait and a new message arrived rather quickly.

From Zayn: "Hmmmm."

Hmmmm? What the hell did ‘hmmmm’ mean? Hmmmm, your dick is so big, Liam.  Hmmmm, I've seen better.

New Message to Zayn: "I've shown u mine, lets see urs????"

Liam placed the phone on his bed, freeing up his other hand to fondle his balls as he stroked his cock. There was no way that Zayn would do it. Although the thought was intensely erotic; Zayn somewhere in this big hotel, lying in bed in a room that was probably identical to Liam’s, pulling down his trousers and pants to take a picture of his dick for Liam. A new message arrived.

From Zayn: "As per ur request. Exhibit A..."

Liam clicked on the image attached and felt a shot of lust so sharp, he gripped his cock hard and moaned out loud. Fuck, that was hot. The picture Zayn sent was of his cock tenting a pair of tight, white Armani briefs. In the picture he could make out the thick outline of Zayn's erection. He could see Zayn's fingertip disappearing into his white briefs, mere centimetres from where his cock strained at the material, the head of Zayn’s cock clearly apparent through the pre-come transparent briefs. Another message arrived.

From Zayn: "Exhibit B..."

Zayn had the white briefs pulled down, exposing most of his erect cock. The wet tip was pointing upward to his v-line and his lower abdomen was slickened with pre-come. Liam's hand trembled as he typed out a message.

New message to Zayn: "Do u always get so wet or is that just 4 me?"

He eased out a breath and resumed tugging on his cock, the sound of skin on skin loud in the quiet room, the slow drag of his hand feeling insanely good, his eyes never leaving the image. Christ, even Zayn’s dick was pretty. The glistening mushroom head was perfect, shaped just right for Liam's mouth. First, he would lick up the thick length of it, getting it wet. Then, he’d blow hot air over it, before letting Zayn put it in his mouth. He wouldn’t suck it at first, no, he’d draw things out, let Zayn get worked up and when he did- Fuck, he’d hollow out his cheeks and pull on it hard, then he’d suck on Zayn's cock for ages and ages and- A new message arrived.

From Zayn: "I'll c what smart comments u'll make when i'm fucking ur mouth with my dick."

Liam stopped breathing. This was _Zayn_ sending him these texts. Zayn who had his cock out and was probably jerking himself on his bed while reading the texts and looking at the pictures Liam had sent him. The grind of his palm on his cock was too dry so he spat on his fist, wishing he had some lube, but he was far too gone to try to get up and look for it. He wrapped his fingers around himself and began to really fuck his fist, his eyes still on the text Zayn had sent. He couldn't say he'd protest the idea of being on his knees and having Zayn shove his cock into his mouth.

New Message to Zayn: "What would u do 2 me if i was there with u?"

He pressed send. He was getting close now, he could tell with the increased sensitivity of his cock and the involuntary urge to thrust his hips faster. Wanting to draw things out, he forced himself to slow down. He loosened the grip he had on his cock, exhaled, and waited for his phone to chime again.

From Zayn: "I’d get you on your back, spread ur legs really wide & then look at your tight, little hole ..."

Liam's legs were trembling as was the phone in his hand. He got onto his back, following Zayn's fantasy, imagining that Zayn was in the room with him.

From Zayn: "Then I'd let u suck on my fingers getting them nice & wet before putting them inside u..."

Liam detached his hand from his cock to suck on his index finger, placing the moist tip against his hole before pushing it inside. As he pressed further in, an idea came to him of a way to push Zayn off the edge and he felt his entire body flush hot. With his heart thudding in his chest and his cheeks burning, he turned his camera on. God, he couldn't believe he was doing this. It was very, very bad.  

Liam gritted his teeth as he adjusted the focus and snapped a shot. Inspecting the picture afterwards he noted that it was blurred and too dark to clearly make out the image. When he tried again he turned on the flash, spread his legs wider, and pulled his left arse cheek back with his free fingers to get a clear and unobstructed view. Picture taken, he dropped his legs, keeping his finger inside himself while he looked at it. _Fuck_. He looked like obscene pornography with his hole looking so pink, wet and his finger knuckle deep inside himself. It was hot and filthy and wrong. He continued to finger himself, his cock neglected and throbbing on his stomach, his phone gripped tightly in his palm.

From Zayn: "I bet u'll be so tight and so hot inside that it b no time before i had to replace my fingers with my cock"

Flushed and so hard, his entire body buzzing with the need to come, Liam sent the image before self-doubt could rear its ugly head. He slowly withdrew his finger from his arse and wrapped his hand around his dick again, tremoring because right now Zayn would have that picture. Right now Zayn would be looking at him all spread out and fingering himself like some slut. What would he do about it? Maybe he'd put some clothes on, and make the short trip to Liam's room so he could act out what they had been texting. He could see it: Zayn blindly looking for his trousers, struggling to zip up past his hard cock before putting on a jacket to cover the obscenity of his exposed hard-on. Then he'd leave his room, glancing around the hotel halls to ensure no one saw him before going two doors down to knock on Liam's door. And when Liam opened up for him he would just turn Liam around, bend him over the nearest available surface and-- A new message chimed in.

From Zayn: "Fuck, Liam. u made me cum."

There was an image attached. It was of Zayn with come covering his fist, his cock, and his stomach. Liam's vision went hazy and he was shooting, his toes curling as he spasmed, his phone gripped so tight in his hand, he was surprised it didn't crack. When his orgasm subsided he took a picture of his still erect cock lying flat on his come-splattered stomach and sent it to Zayn before he flopped on his back and worked on catching his breath.

***

The next morning his alarm went off and the first thought in his head was of Zayn and their impromptu sexting session. What the fuck had he been thinking? He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, picturing the million different ways he could avoid Zayn. The easiest would be a crater to appear in the ground and for him to fall in it.

His phone buzzed and it was a message from Paul. It would be the first of three before Paul would come up to his room and personally escort him to breakfast. Because the show had to go on, hangover or no hangover. Liam would rather not have that so he sighed and got up.

He showered, shaved, and went down to breakfast, his stomach doing weird somersaults the entire way. An image, red hot and brilliant, of Zayn came to mind. The first one, his white briefs complimenting his olive skin, Zayn's cock jutting out against its tight restraints, the black ink barrel of that gun guiding Liam where he wanted to place his mouth. No, it wasn't that he hadn’t been thinking. Instead of consequences, his mind had been imagining all the sex he could have with Zayn, given the opportunity.

He was reaching for the handle when the door opened and Zayn stood before him, so devilishly handsome, decked out in black jeans and a frayed white T-shirt. They both froze. Liam's face became incredibly warm and he didn't need a mirror to tell him he was blushing. His face grew hotter when he remembered that picture of himself he'd sent. His modesty nowhere to be found when his legs had been spread and his finger- Fuck, he shouldn't be thinking about that.  

"Morning," Liam said, his voice more squeaky than he would like it to be. He cleared his throat and met Zayn's eyes head on, tilting his chin up because he had never been one to cower in the face of adversity. Zayn's eyes followed the movement of Liam’s throat as he swallowed dryly.

"Morning, Liam." Zayn sounded different, his voice lowered despite the rest of the people in Sarah’s Kitchen being loud and hardly paying any attention to them. "Enjoy breakfast." Zayn brushed past, his chest grazing against Liam, and Liam couldn’t stop himself from turning around to watch him walk away.  He watched until Zayn disappeared around a corner before walking into Sarah’s Kitchen to pick up a bowl and dished himself some cereal. 

 ***

They didn’t discuss that night. Ever.

They finished the tour and flew across the Pacific to new cities. They rocked up stadiums, met great fans and continue their exciting, but routine, routine. Interviews, photo shoots, signings, press junkets. Rinse and repeat.

Liam looked at the text and images from that night frequently. He would be in his hotel room and he'd tell himself that he just wanted to look and nothing else. Before he knew it, he'd have his trousers pushed down to his knees, his hands down in his pants and he'd be tugging on his cock until he painted his fist and chest with come. If it weren't for those images, he could almost convince himself that the entire thing had never happened, that it had been one intense, very vivid, very explicit dream.

But it had happened. And he really wouldn't mind if it happened again. But the thing was, he didn't have it in him to initiate it.

***

His interactions with Zayn were no different to an outside observer. They played off each other on stage. They sat next to each other during interviews, but he knew something was different. He dreaded and anticipated seeing Zayn, because since that night, any contact with Zayn left him discombobulated, flushed, and twitchy. He never knew what to expect. Would Zayn bring it up? Or would he be the one who’d finally crack, dropping to his knees to beg Zayn to let him blow him?

Sometimes Zayn looked at him, his eyes dark and unreadable, and all Liam wanted to do was ask him was did he still have them? Had he looked at the texts since that night? Did he get hard reading them? Did he jack off looking at them? And when more weeks passed, the questions changed. Did Zayn regret that night? Was he disgusted by what they did? He became certain that it would never happen again and that Zayn probably had pushed the events of that night in the remotest corners of his mind, archived under "Never open".

That was until one night his phone rang and it was Zayn.

"Hello?" Liam said. His heart was in his throat because Zayn hadn’t called or texted him since that night. Not once.

"You know, Liam, I've always thought you were a good boy," Zayn said, his voice very low and raspy like he had spent the evening chain-smoking. Liam had never heard him sound like this despite the hundreds of hours that they had spent in each other’s company. "But I was obviously wrong because good boys don't take pictures like that and if they do, they don't text pictures like that."

Liam swallowed compulsively as he listened to the static hum of the line. He opened his mouth, then thought better of it and closed it. _Now_ Zayn was bringing it up and of course Liam was awkward, fumbling and unsure and far, far too out of his comfort zone because Zayn could hear him. It had been much easier to play at being that person, the anti-Liam, when he was texting safely alone in the confines of his hotel room.

"Hello?" Zayn asked when the silence had dragged on far too long.

"What are you wearing?" Liam asked. His voice came out assured and unwavering and he closed his eyes, recalling the texts from that night, his cock stiffening from the sudden fierce hunger he felt for Zayn. He had made Zayn come just from _looking_ at pictures of him. He. Could. Do. This.

"Not much. A towel because I just stepped out of the shower," Zayn said without hesitation. "What are _you_ wearing?"

 "I think the better question is what I'm not wearing," Liam said, leaning back against the headboard of the bed as he pressed a palm to his groin. "I'll give you a hint, I once had a pair of these stolen..."

**The End**

 


End file.
